Silhouettes in Light
by CobraCommander
Summary: (A Moon Knight fan fiction) Moon Knight encounters previous warriors and must bring down his terrorist arch-nemesis Bushman. Chapter Three now up! Please Read and Review.
1. Altered From Candor

Silhouettes in Light

By Cobra Commander

_Author's Note: Moon Knight is the creation of Marvel Comics. In the early eighties, he was released and succeeded with a stretch of over 100 issues in two volumes of Moon Knight. Moon Knight is the mercenary Marc Spector, who disbanded from the commando group led by the terrorist Bushman. Before resigning, Spector was the right-hand man of Bushman. When differences came between the two, Bushman beat Spector to near death and left him in the tomb of Seti. There, the moon god Khonshu resurrected him to be the knight of the moon, and to protect the innocent. Spector then retained two other identities: millionaire Steven Grant and cab driver Jake Lockley._

Chapter One: Altered From Candor

"_At dawn, in the Sudan, the memory of the night's merciless cold lingers in the bones while the day's withering heat has already begun to sear the flesh…"_

Two feet were up on a desk. In the hand was a cigar; the other, a remote. It controlled various monitors that surveyed the estate. It was a vast one, the estate, one that had been taken by force rather than inheritance. Now the entire system and company were dominated by the erroneous owner. He was a man of the past, of Marc Spector's past. He lowered the remote to the table and reached to unbuckle the holster on his belt. Out he twirled a colt 45. It spun on his finger before he stopped the motion with his thumb and gave a grin. The light that was dim suddenly became apparent and reflected the metal within his jaw.

The two guards at his office door were holding a weaker man, one that had been beaten within an inch of his life. The man could only look down as blood spew from his brow. The guards gave the man a good shake, and his head slowly looked up at the gun-toting mercenary.

The mercenary closed his mouth, gave a quick frown and returned his revolver to its holster. The military boots retracted from the desk and reached the floor. He stood, taking a last puff of the cigar before reaching for the ash tray. Before putting it out, however, he looked at the weak man, and once again his face produced a grin. He walked to the weak man, put his finger under his chin, and looked him straight in the eye. Their eyes met, and then one became totally blackened and swirled with pain.

The now defused cigar lay on the floor. The two guards turned their heads away. Never before had something so gruesome been laid to them. The mercenary took hold of the weak man's arms and lifted him to his feet. The guards let go and stood at ease. Once again their eyes met, only now there were three instead of four.

"Bushman, I had the money… the police caught me, though. It wasn't my fault." Bushman, the ruthless mercenary, licked his lips. "Please, Bushman."

Bushman shook his head, no.

The weak man's eye became filled with tears of fright as Bushman grabbed his hair and pulled his neck back. Bushman licked his lips and sunk his jaws into the pulsing flesh. Following that was the sound of a rip, followed by another rip. However, there was no screaming.

Bushman led the two guards to where the body would be dumped. He had assumed beforehand that Lasuras would fail him, and lo! he was right. As the guards dragged the corpse through the courtyard, several other guards who were unaware of the situation stopped or strewed from their posts and routes to see the sight. Bushman came to a slow stop and glared at his employees who were not doing his bidding. He unbuckled his holster and shown his teeth. The guards quickly backed away to save their questions for later.

The pace started again, and they exited the courtyard and passed through the garden. It was late at night, and the stars were glistening, something that had become a rare shot in New York City over the past few months.

The moon was out in full. This made Bushman frown. He distracted himself by looking at the flowers that had just been planted. They were white tiger lilies. Bushman tried to create a smile, but the moonlight bounced a reflection of jet silver, the color on the attire his arch-nemesis wore. The heads of the flowers turned to heads of apparitions. They all appeared as Moon Knight, and the images started to flow through Bushman's head.

His tempo grew slower, and the guards tried to catch a glimpse over his shoulder to see what the matter was. Bushman rubbed his face and increased the rate of movement. His eyes set straight. Moon Knight was not out in force. He was not out to get Bushman.

At the end of the garden, which was enclosed by a cement wall, a large, four by seven hole appeared in the ground. It was at least six feet deep. Bushman turned and waved his hand towards the abyss. The guards gave one final tug before plunging the body inwards. Two more guards arrived with shovels.

All four began the process of covering the body. Bushman barked one last order, to burn their clothes when they were done. Bushman would have to do the same thing. He wiped his lip with his fingertips. The blood was still fresh. He licked it off as if it were sugar, and wiped his saliva on his pants.

As he made his final pass through the garden, one last guard passed him toting a bag of soil and seeds for white tiger lilies. This was not the first time Bushman had ordered this operation.

The rows of white tiger lilies already imprinted in the ground screamed silently, and even though it should have eaten Bushman to his inner core, it could not even scratch the crust. The stone hub that lay in his chest throbbed with a beat of anger, jealousy, fear, joy, assertiveness, and insanity. Only one other thing had entered his heart, but it had exited almost as fast as it had appeared.

Before entering the courtyard again, Bushman stopped at the very first few rows of tiger lilies that danced in the light of the moon. There was no plaque or grave, but Bushman knew very well who lay under the debris, and Lord was he proud of his victim. Beneath the dust, who lay in dust, who died in dust, was the previous owner of the estate, and the company, for that matter.

"Mr. Haerst, I thank you once again. Without you, I wouldn't have had so much room to dump the bodies!" Bushman let out a sinister laugh. "Bushman Estate as well as Straatman-Haerst Vaccines is the best investment I have ever made in my entire life! Forget my days in Egypt. My era of being a mercenary has finished!"

He passed through the courtyard and retreated to his desk. The boots rose to the desk, and a cigar became a head of fire. A few puffs and Bushman took hold of the remote again.

**GRANT RESIDENCE**

The library was unbelievably vast. The Grant manor was not as luxurious as Bushman's, but it fit Spector as it needed. Despite the massive amount of literature that surrounded him, Spector chose to read the newspaper.

Once again, in the back pages, the terrorist-for-hire now gone legitimate known as Bushman made minor headlines. His estate was making millions, so much it was ridiculous. The simple golf course that he added could not be raking in the cash that he was. Of course, no one dared question the money's origin.

The police also could never arrest Bushman. With his recent contributions to several charities and his extremely powerful and influential lawyers prevented them. Everyone and his mother knew that corruption lay within the chambers of the evil estate, but there was little done.

Even Marc Spector, the macabre Moon Knight, the servant of the Egyptian god Khonshu, was powerless. An attempt to break in and expose corruption last month failed miserably, nearly landing Marc in jail. It also came close to revealing his identity.

Marc tossed the paper aside with much concern. Bushman was untouchable. The whole organization was untouchable. Marc knew that the key was to find Haerst and confront Bushman with his crimes. The only problem with that was Haerst was buried in Bushman's yard, something Spector was not aware of.

Spector rubbed his forehead as he sunk into his recliner. He gave the paper one last look and saw a column with a title that sparked his interest. He got up and retrieved the article.

Apparently, scientists and archaeologists working on a dig in Egypt unveiled a series of mummies that were in the tomb of Pharaoh Seti. They were aligned with the statue of Khonshu, the moon god. All had inscriptions towards the bottom of each chest. The strange part was that the writing was in Greek instead of Egyptian hieroglyphics. There were six caskets in all, and the Greek writing was the name of each servant.

The archaeologists had opened each casket, and all but one contained a mummy. Once translated, the name on the empty sarcophagus read "Marcus Spector."

Marc's eyes lighted with bewilderment. The Moon Knights of the past! There was one from every major era in history.

The moon shone through the giant window. He looked up and saw that it was full. Without thinking, he dropped the paper on the floor once more and arose. He stalked to the window, gazing at the moon's beauty. It was calling him, beckoning him… It was time for him to return to his work, his craft of good.

Within seconds, his uniform was assembled. His weapons were all arrayed to his liking, his hood guarding his face. He was no longer Marc Spector. No longer Steve Grant. No longer Jake Lockley. He was the macabre Moon Knight…

Soon he was flying through the sky with Frenchie weaving in and out of the skyscrapers of New York. Moon Knight descended from the craft and onto the streets. He was in the projects. Local drug lords and notorious thugs were out in force. Breaking the law, causing mischief, the usual deal. He hid in the shadows, where the moon's radiant light did not intrude. As several punks and gangsters were gathered around a lamp post making some sort of cocaine deal, Moon Knight struck.

He flew in, foot first into a thug's face. He launched his truncheon, knocking two hoodlums to the ground, banging their heads against the cement. As several crooks revealed switchblades, Moon Knight smirked under his mask. He flipped over, his hands on the ground and spun his legs towards the criminals. The switchblades flew to the ground as did the punks. Soon, only one remained standing.

As the others tried to scuttle away, the last gangster opened his vest and pulled out a handgun. Before the gangster could even blink, Moon Knight struck with a fist to the face. The powers of the moon enabled Moon Knight to act stronger than usual. Tonight he could take on Bushman, if only he had the chance.

The mobster pulled himself to the lamp post and tried to scoop up the drugs. Moon Knight walked over and kicked them away gently.

"You don't need those, son. You need a rehab center," Moon Knight said, disgusted.

The gangster sputtered some words, but it was not clear what he said. He wiped his face clean of the blood and took deep breaths.

"What did you say?"

"I said they ain't for me!" the gangster retorted. "They for Bushman."

Moon Knight became terribly interested. He motioned for the gangster to go on. The man did not want to, but a glimpse of a scarab dart changed his mind.

"I don't even know what that crap is. Bushman sent us for it. It's for his friend or something. I don't know. Don't look at me, man, I just work for him!"

Moon Knight picked up the bag of what looked like cocaine and turned from the punk. The man got up and scurried away. Spector looked at the bag. Bushman's friend? This was all too odd. He would have to take it home and have it examined. The rest of the hoodlums in the projects could wait for now. This had the potential to get into the Bushman establishment.

The jet silver craft soared through the air. Moon Knight looked up as it passed over the moon. A cloud started to settle over it. Things were changing in New York, and the mercenary with a skull-painted face was getting comfortable. The days of the desert had died, and the time of the knight had come.

**REFERENCES:**

"Forget my days… mercenary has finished!": Refer to Moon Knight #1


	2. Shadows in the Center

Chapter Two: Shadows in the Center

The shady little bar could hardly hold fifty people. From the outside, you knew you were in the projects. Men came in and out, and so did their prostitute companions. From above, on the roof, Moon Knight watched in disgust. He was waiting for his buddies from the fight to come rushing home. He knew that this was where Bushman had used to work. It was also very possible for Bushman to still be there. Time would tell, not thoughts, and Moon Knight knew that.

A gangster wearing a dark blue bandanna suddenly came rushing down the sidewalk. He pushed past several hookers and stumbled to the ground before he could reach the door. When he got to his knees, two men in black suits wearing sunglasses exited the bar and picked the man up. He struggled and sputtered, trying to explain his situation. Moon Knight watched intuitively. He had never seen such sharp-dressed men working this far into the projects. Unless they were undercover police officers, which was highly doubtful, they looked awfully suspicious.

Moon Knight squinted and tried to stretch his hearing range to find out what was happening. The man claimed that a masked person had beaten everyone up, and that both the money and the drugs were lost. The guards looked at each other. One took a peek back inside the bar. Odd. He then nodded and the duo dragged the punk to the alleyway. The victim tried to scream, but a hand clamped over his mouth. The other guard proceeded to put on leather gloves and then pull a silenced handgun from his jacket.

The guard aimed at the man's head, only inches away. Beads of sweat started to roll as the man watched the gun. It moved up and down slowly as the guard enjoyed his taunting. The guard then enjoyed a foot striking him in the temple and knocking him against the wall of the alleyway. The other guard looked in amazement and let the man go, reaching for the gun in his own jacket.

Moon Knight spun and clobbered the guard's hands with the balls of his feet. He whimpered and rolled to his side. Moon Knight ripped open his jacket and took the weapon, emptying the ammo on the wet and slimy cement. He then proceeded to fling the gun towards the street. The revolver bounced on the pavement and shot straight into a sewer grate. The guard stretched out his hand towards his shoe slowly and tried to grab a switchblade. Moon Knight caught him and almost laughed.

"Now, before you go and grab the knife from your shoe, I want you to think about something, jazz boy. I just knocked your comrade out. I smashed your knuckles and got rid of your gun. Can you honestly think for _one second _that you can _actually _beat me by getting that knife out of your shoe?" Moon Knight teased. The man looked imploringly. "Come on, now, this isn't hard." The man shook his head.

Moon Knight then patted his head and walked down the alleyway and to the back of the bar. The guard jumped up with the switchblade and ran towards him. Moon Knight stopped and looked at the ground, shaking his head. He rubbed his face.

"I told you not to," he said. The guard plunged forth with the knife, but Moon Knight just stepped towards the side and let the man run into a pile of barrels. Moon Knight then grabbed the guard's hair and pulled. "Don't do that again. Can you promise me that, jazz man?" Moon Knight took hold of his skull with the other hand and forced an up-and-down motion with his head. "Good."

Moon Knight crept to the back door. He peered into a small glass window in the center of the entrance. A storage room. Filthy, of course. What else would it be? Especially since Bushman was running it. He remembered when he stormed Bushman's gentlemen's club. What an interesting night that was. Marlene had stopped him, though. Marc knew he could have finished Bushman right then and there… he snapped back to reality. Moon Knight tugged at the door while still looking in the porthole. Locked. Moon Knight looked down at the knob. It wouldn't turn. He looked back into the storage facility and saw a shaggy-looking man heading towards him. This could be his ticket inside.

Moon Knight then remembered- the guard behind him. No time now. He jumped behind the collection of barrels and waited. The scruffy chap noticed the guard almost immediately. He was a tad drunk, so Marc had no trouble tackling him. The drunken pal gave up and passed out. There was a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. Marc took hold of it and seized the tiny radio. A voice started to chatter.

"Hey, Karl, are you two done with that bum yet? Hey, Karl?" the voice became frustrated. "Oh, for Christ's sake, turn the damn thing on…" Moon Knight searched the drunkard for keys and found them in his chest pocket. Gold.

Marc went inside the storage facility and left the walkie-talkie on a shelf. The keys, however, he kept with him. He snuck around and snooped all over the storage room. Boxes upon boxes of beer, a little marijuana… Nothing too interesting, though. Then he spotted a box that was most intriguing. He walked to it, picked it up and read the side.

"Melandilpitoncian?" he said slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct. "What in the world…" A noise. Marc looked up. Shadows were dancing around the entrance of the storage room. He stuffed the small box into a compartment of his cape. He flattened himself against the wall until the shadows disappeared. He gazed into the hallway. It was empty. He moved around the corner and down the hall, hoping to see some sort of office or something. He had no luck, only stairs.

He ascended the stairs and came to another hallway. However, it was much smaller and led to two rooms. Both appeared to be offices. He heard no noise from within each one, so he tapped on the first door. Nothing. No greeting or anything. He jiggled the handle. The door opened and it revealed a dark room.

After kicking the door behind him and letting it close, he moved towards the desk. There were papers all over it. Newspapers, articles of magazines, everything. Even books on ancient Egypt, and _that _is what confused Marc. He shuffled papers around the counter until he found the eye-opener. It was the newspaper that Marc had been reading that very night. Not odd that the daily paper was on the table, but that the article about the Moon Knights of the past was circled several times.

Bushman had been here.

Moon Knight heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He looked round, almost nowhere safe to hide. He stuck himself into a tiny closet and shut the door. Someone entered, but he could not see. Through the crevice at the bottom of the closet, Marc could see that he had turned on the lights. The figure went to the desk and shuffled through papers.

"Damn it, where did I put those keys?" said the voice. It was all too familiar. Bushman. Moon Knight sneered and was ready to burst out of the closet, but he could not tell whether Bushman had accompaniments with him.

"I think they might be in the top drawer, boss," said another voice. This one was unfamiliar. Most likely one of Bushman's top henchmen. "I know we left Laury with a pair. I don't know where he's gone to, though."

"No, I'm talking about the other keys, idiot."

Bushman retorted back at the insolent pig and began to tear the office apart. It was only a matter of time before he opened the closet door. Moon Knight took hold of his truncheon and closed his eyes for a moment. The moon was full, and Khonshu was watching.

"Is the car ready, Junas?" asked Bushman. Junas, he would have to remember that name. Most likely it would serve as useful evidence. Junas replied with a yes and then went on to drabble about unimportant matters. That is when Bushman approached the closet door and swung it open.

The first thing Moon Knight saw was confusion. The first thing Bushman saw was a truncheon. Squarely in the face, to be precise. Bushman stumbled back and crashed into the desk. Moon Knight exited the closet and looked at Junas, who had been picking his teeth. Before Junas could react, Moon Knight threw a dart at him and nailed him in the shoulder, causing him to stagger out the doorway.

Bushman returned and punched Marc in the gut and then sliced with an uppercut. Marc flew into the air about a half foot and landed back in the closet. Bushman lifted his boot and stabbed at Moon Knight with it, but it was no good. Moon Knight grabbed his foot and tried to twist it, but Bushman had too much balance.

Moon Knight reached for another dart, but started to lose control of Bushman's leg. But he only needed about a second, so it was good. The dart was lifted in the air briefly before it sank its way into the flesh. Bushman howled and hopped backwards and nearly tripped. Marc got up and started his approach.

Junas returned and had his revolver in his hand. He fired two shots and missed Moon Knight both times. He was shooting with a crippled arm, and Junas had never been a good shot, anyways.

Moon Knight sprung over the desk as Junas fired the last four bullets. While Bushman was sitting on the ground, trying to remove the dart, Junas emptied the shells on the wooden floor and fumbled with another six rounds. Moon Knight struck once more and knocked Junas through the other office door before he could finish loading the bullets. This entire situation was causing quite a ruckus, and workers from downstairs started to come up.

Marc gripped his cudgel and readied himself. Three men started up the stairs, all armed. However, they had rifles. Those were a little trickier to handle than pistols. Moon Knight ran towards them and slid on the stairs with his back straight. He plowed under their feet and caused them to fall. One of them accidentally fired, plugging a round into his comrade's back. Another dart cut the stomach of another guard, and the other was trying to remove the dead body on top of him.

Moon Knight took a breath to collect himself. But there was no time. A crash from upstairs unsettled him. It was glass; someone had jumped out a window. He looked out the front entrance and watched as Bushman stumbled into a car. Moon Knight ran out but the car took off down the road before he could do anything.

Luckily for him, Frenchie showed up with the jet silver wraith. A chain ladder had been extended from below. Moon Knight jumped on and Frenchie flew off after the bandits.

The car was speeding down povern-stricken roads. It was not trying to reach any sort of destination, just trying to escape the Moon Knight. However, the nice Jaguar could not escape the flying wraith. Bushman looked out the window behind him and saw Moon Knight on a ladder, approaching rapidly.

"There he is! There he is, you fools! Quick! Get him!" Bushman demanded. The other two passengers besides the driver took their machine guns and rolled down their windows. They leaned out and started to fire. To avoid being hit, Frenchie moved left and right. "Go for the engines, you fools!"

The men then took their aim off Moon Knight and began to shoot at the engines. The right engine began to spark, then smoke started to emit. Frenchie radioed Marc.

"Marc! Ze engine! She is gone, Marc!"

Moon Knight gave no response to his good friend. He bent his knees and sprung forth, landing on the trunk of the Jaguar. Frenchie pulled up and away, taking the craft to safety.

The two men aimed at Moon Knight, but he grabbed the barrel of one gun and the head of a guard and took control. As he held the barrel of the gun in the air, he slammed the other guard's head against the roof of the car. He let go of the man's head, and the tramp fell out of the car and rolled on the ground.

Marc pulled the gun and the man with it. He let go of the machine gun, and both the gun and the man holding it crashed into the streets.

The driver started to swerve. Moon Knight grabbed onto the windshield and lay on the roof. Bushman poked his head out the passenger window and opened his mouth. Marc saw the jaws nearing his radial artery, and quickly let go of the windshield with his right hand.

A swerve to the right nearly threw Moon Knight onto the pavement. He took his feet and thrust them into the window behind the driver. He started to crawl in, but Bushman stopped him. The two bickered and bat in the back seat, and Moon Knight's hand finally slipped. He hit the lever that opened the door, and soon he was swinging at the mercy of the driver.

The driver took a sharp turn to the right, and Moon Knight could not handle the force. He flew off the door and landed in a pile of trash bags next to a garbage container. He was a bit woozy with a few scrapes, but nothing too serious.

"What an unbelievable stroke of luck," he said to himself. He got up and brushed himself off, and then felt a sudden pain in his leg. He limped out into the street to see if the Jaguar was still in sight, but it was gone. Police cars started to whip by, most likely on their way to the bar.

Marc turned and walked away back towards the bar. Not everything that was there had been explained to his liking. There were still some mysteries lurking in the dark, and perhaps Junas could answer them for him. Poor men watched the radiant figure march down the street. As Moon Knight observed his surroundings, he could only wonder how many Bushmans were festering in the rotten heap of the projects.


	3. Chase and Murder

Chapter Three: Chase and Murder

When Moon Knight, though a tad crippled, arrived at the bar, it was swamped by police officials. It was all right, the police would most certainly let Marc go through, but they would keep their eye on him. It was pretty much known that Moon Knight had something to do with it. However, the police needed his help too much to arrest him for breaking and entering or assault and battery.

Marc slipped into the bar as an ambulance sped away carrying an injured guard. Another ambulance took its departure slowly as the victim was dead. Moon Knight combed over the entire bar, looking for Junas. Perhaps the police had already arrested him. He stepped outside and peered into every window of every police car. Not one of them was Junas.

He was aware that he had not gotten a great glance at him, but Marc knew he would be able to recognize the fiend. Moon Knight went back into the bar as two more men were dragged out in handcuffs. Neither were Junas. He went and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Although he heard a rustling, he swore it to be police officers.

One by one his feet hit the steps, ascending him to the top. The two doors beckoned him. Odd, because the one to the left had been open. He jiggled the handle before swinging it open, revealing nothing. The light was still on, the window still broken. There was nothing new here, but the essence of it was still perplexing.

He turned and opened the other door. Flipping on the light, he revealed an empty office. Moon Knight, though compelled to do so, felt too tired and beaten to search the closets that he knew were empty. Marc flipped off the lights and closed the door. He paused for a moment before lifting his foot to place on the step beneath him.

Suddenly, he heard a strange noise. It was from within the office. He jerked around, took hold of the knob and swung the door opened. There was Junas, crawling out of the window to the alleyway behind the bar. Before Moon Knight could grab the thug, Junas plunged into the darkness below.

Moon Knight watched as the clumsy criminal move over the dumpster and run through the alleyways. Marc dove from the window and pursued the weak-minded fool.

Junas flattened beer boxes and smashed various cans and glass bottles through the back ways of gutters. He could hear the knight of the moon bouncing off the walls behind him, gaining speed as well as ground. His pistol was gone; he had felt it fall out of his pocket when he hit the ground, but he had no time to pick it up for Moon Knight was there.

The Bushman operative then ran into a warehouse. It was abandoned, but it would have to suffice for now. He leaned over as he staggered towards a group of haz-mat barrels. He plopped his behind on the ground and leaned back, taking a deep breath. Junas looked out a giant window near the top corner of the warehouse and caught the moon shining brightly. The he felt the presence of a man behind him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Get up," the voice commanded. It was unrecognizable. The tone was much deeper than of anyone he knew. The person was still behind him, breathing on his neck. Sweat tore its way down the cradles of his face as he waited for the next command. Suddenly, two hands grasped him and spun him around. Before him stood not Moon Knight, but one of Bushman's officers, Gaersburg.

Junas let out a sigh of relief that also incorporated anger. Gaersburg only planted a smirk and then patted Junas on the shoulder.

"Gaersburg, you asshole. You had me scared to death."

"Yeah, well, there's no time for you to be scared. Bushman needs you. He says you have the list." Junas acknowledged the presence of the list in his jacket and nodded. "Good. Then we won't have to go searching your trail. Come on, I've got Lance in a car out front waiting for us."

Gaersburg started to walk past Junas when he noticed he wasn't moving. He looked at Junas a moment and realized he was staring at something. Gaersburg placed his eyeballs in the same direction of his comrade's and saw nothing. Junas began to back up, still frightened. Gaersburg looked at Junas in confusion as Moon Knight dropped down from the ceiling and stood right behind him. The truncheon was hoisted in the air for a brief moment before clashing with Gaersburg's neck. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Junas continued to back up before toppling over a barrel that lay on the ground. Moon Knight stepped forward slowly, trying to place as much fear in Junas as he could. Junas reached for his back pocket to get his knife.

"Looking for this?" asked Moon Knight, holding the silver razor. "I got it from your pocket while you were scrambling down the isle." Junas froze. "Tell me, Junas; what was Bushman doing in that bar tonight?"

There was a moment of silence before Moon Knight became a bit frustrated.

"Look, bud. I could kill you right now if I wanted to and still stop Bushman's scheme. However, I'd rather let you tell me what he's up to." There was a pause. "Unless, of course, you'd rather end up worse than your pal here." Junas concurred and prepared to release the plan.

"Bushman has been doing a lot of business. Ever since he took that company, drugs are readily available for him to sell. We've got a small network set up right here in the projects. A lot of cash has been pulled in, and up until tonight everything's been running smoothly. Bushman went to the office to get the keys to the supply room. We've got drugs all over this place, in every little crud hole you can imagine. He was looking for the Skeleton Key; it opens every drug supply room door in the projects." Junas looked around. Moon Knight expected more. "What? What else do you want?"

"The names, the places, the records. I want everything."

"Hey, man, I can't do that for you." Junas almost laughed as he said it. Moon Knight pulled out a few crescent darts. "I'm serious, man, I don't have that access. I'm a top man of the streets, not the estate."

"Do you know how he took the company?" Junas shook his head. "How about the articles on Egypt? Did he ever say anything about that?" Junas thought for a minute.

"Oh, yeah. Egypt." He scratched his chin. "I think he said something about going there to get gold, maybe something else. I'm not sure, he never really said much." Marc nodded and started to exit, then stopped and went back to Junas. He held out his hand.

"The list." Slowly, Junas took the list from his jacket and placed it in Moon Knight's palm. "Thanks." He then proceeded to knee Junas in the face.

**THREE HOURS LATER**

Bushman was in another small office. On one end, two of his bodyguards stood with their arms folded. On the other side, Karl, Laury, and the escapee from the fight, Nickton, were all standing next to each other, nervous as hell. Bushman paced in front of them, back and forth with a revolver in his hand. He shook his head and grunted a laugh every now and then before stopping to look at them.

"In this revolver, six bullets can be held. Now, I'm not a big fan of Russian roulette, but I think this occasion calls for it." He looked at Nickton. "Of course, I'm not going to be playing, just pulling the trigger." He laughed. "There's only one bullet in this gun, so only one of you will get shot. I'm gonna ask a bunch of questions, and if you don't have the answer, I put the barrel to your head."

He started to pace again, not looking at any of them, only the ground. He stopped in front of Nickton.

"What happened at the deal?"

"Uh," he stammered. "This guy showed up. I think it's that Moon Knight character. He-he jumped in and just… just…"

"Wrong." Bushman put the gun to his head and fired. Nothing, just a click. Nickton swallowed hard. Bushman took his finger and flicked Nickton's nose.

He paced onwards, this time looking at each man as he passed. He then stopped in front of Laury. He stared at him for a moment, and then took a step and stopped in front of Karl. He asked _him _what had happened, and he responded with an "I don't know." Bushman laughed and put the barrel to his head. A shot and a click. Karl nearly passed out.

Laury started to pant. Bushman looked at him, no smile crossing his face. In fact, antagonism infested his countenance. He stepped in front of him, and Laury closed his eyes, breathing even harder.

"Where were _you_?" asked Bushman. Laury opened his mouth to respond, and Bushman put the gun in it. "Where were you, Laury?" There was still no answer as a tear streaked down his face. He scowled.

He pulled the revolver from Laury's mouth and aimed at Karl. A shot. A hit. And with that, Karl was on the floor. The bodyguards walked over and picked up the body and carried it out. They would be going to the garden, Bushman's favorite garden.

He dropped the revolver on the ground and went to the other side of the office. He disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a club. A night stick, to be precise. Both Laury and Nickton backed up against the wall, staring at the bludgeon. Bushman patted it in his hands.

Nickton looked out in the hall. He could see Karl's feet being dragged away.

"You said you'd only kill one of us!" Nickton pleaded. Bushman waved his finger as if to say, "no-no." He then wound up the club.

"No, I said only one of you would be shot." He swung the bat and smashed Nickton's jaw. He screamed as blood started to pour out of it. Bushman threw the club to the other side of the office and shut Nickton's mouth. He screamed even more, but it was muffled.

Before he died, however, Nickton caught a glimpse of the jaws glimmering in the dim light. The rumors were true; the teeth really did shine in dull luminosity. But the next thing heard was not a scream or even a whimper, but a rip. The whole of the Adam's apple rolled in Bushman's mouth. He spewed the chunk onto the wall. It bounced back and he batted it away with his boot.

Laury watched in horror. Bushman then turned to him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Laury. I won't kill you now. You can still prove useful to me." Bushman then put his arm around him as they walked out of the office and towards the garden as two more guards dragged the new throat less corpse.

While Bushman and Laury proceeded to the garden, Junas and Gaersburg reported in at the front gate. Luckily for them, Captain Der Connent was at the entrance with a few other guards. Connent noticed and recognized the two right away. He shook his head and stalled his conversation with the sentinels.

Junas fell to the ground, breathless, as did Gaersburg. Connent stared at the two and then pulled Junas to his feet. He stared at him before letting him go. Connent told Junas that he knew he wasn't supposed to be there. In fact, no street operatives were supposed to be at the estate without Bushman's consent.

Junas became frustrated and tried to explain what had happened. Connent dismissed the other men to their posts. Junas then went on to say how he followed Moon Knight and saw where he resided. Connent looked at the estate, thought for a moment, and then back to Junas.

_This information is much more useful to _mehe thought. _I'll be promoted in no time. _"Tell me where it is, Junas, I'll make sure the boss gets the message." Junas was hesitant at first before Connent revealed his hunting knife. The Grant Estate? _Odd_, he thought, _I never would have suspected there._

He pointed back to the abyss and Junas and Gaersburg disappeared. Connent turned and went back towards the mansion, knowing that his employer would be extremely proud.


End file.
